


a week with your boy

by adeleblaircassiedanser



Category: Veep
Genre: Cunnilingus, Established Relationship, F/M, Labels, Morning Sex, Power Imbalance, Schmoop
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-09
Updated: 2016-08-10
Packaged: 2018-08-07 15:20:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,661
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7719859
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/adeleblaircassiedanser/pseuds/adeleblaircassiedanser
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The thing is about Jonah Ryan- he has a very limited set of skills. Making strangers uncomfortable in a record short amount of time; video games; finding the exact worst specimen of music from every genre and putting them all on the same three mixtapes; and eating pussy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Title from "Boyfriend" by Justin Bieber, which Jonah probably subjects Amy to in the car at some point. Honestly, you guys are welcome for me not naming this "swag, swag, swag on you." You got off easy, tbh.

One Sunday in March, Amy’s sitting at her kitchen table, half-catching up on work while having a FaceTime conversation with her college roommate.

 

“Second time’s the charm, probably,” Charlotte says. Amy snorts. “Anyway, at least I’m spending my own money this time, so it’s actually going to be really cute. Wait until you see the venue.” 

 

“Martha’s Vineyard, though? Really? Aren’t you a little worried about  _ literally  _ becoming your mother?” 

 

Charlotte makes a face like ‘what are you going to do.’ “I dunno. Brooks, promise me you’re coming. I mean you never call, you never write- Boston is not that far away, you know, they have the Acela and every-”

 

“Calm down, I’m coming, all right? Jesus. I’ll take a long weekend.” 

 

“You bringing the boyfriend?” 

 

“Yeah, probably.” 

 

“Okay. I really think you’re going to like David, by the way. He’s really nothing like Eric.”

 

“I trust your judgment,” Amy says primly. 

 

“Amy, you don’t have to be mean,” she pouts. 

 

“I’m not,” Amy says. “I’m sure he’s great. Can’t wait to meet him.” She is reasonably sure the new model will be better than Eric, an abusive cokehead who had, impressively, made Dan look like a Barbie Dream Date. 

 

“Okay, hon, I gotta go, but let’s talk soon, kay? Promise?” Amy nods obligingly. 

 

“Love you, bye,” she says, hangs up, and pages over to the Excel spreadsheet she’s been working out of all day. Not a minute later, she hears Jonah skulking around behind her. He’s left the TV on in the living room, clearly trying to be sneaky. “Hi, Jonah,” Amy says loudly, bursting his bubble. She tilts her head back over the top of the chair, and he takes one long stride over to peck her on the mouth. 

 

“Hi,” he says. “So where are you bringing me?” 

 

“Massachusetts, apparently,” Amy says in a long-suffering tone. “Charlotte’s getting married, again. July. You don’t have to come if you don’t want to.” 

 

“I want to,” Jonah says. “I’m great at weddings. But, uh-”

 

“But what?” Amy’s distracted by three back-to-back email alerts flashing up on her screen. When she looks up, Jonah’s standing on the other side of the table, staring at her. “Sorry, what did you say?” 

 

His voice is a little quiet. “Charlotte thinks I’m your boyfriend,” he says. 

 

“Yeah, I guess?” Amy agrees, not really seeing where he’s going with this. 

 

“Amy, am I your boyfriend?” the tone of the question is uncharacteristically serious, and he’s meeting her eyes so intently that it’s unnerving. It feels like a trick question. 

 

“Sure?” she says after a moment’s hesitation. This seems to have been the right answer; Jonah grins and holds up his hand for a high five. The fact that she indulges this fourth-grade move without thinking is probably a bad sign vis-a-vis her judgment and mental state. 

 

“Fuck yeah I am,” Jonah says, and plants a wet, smacking kiss in the middle of her forehead. 

 

“Byeee,” Amy calls out, exasperated, as he lumbers loudly back into the other room. 

 

\---

 

“Ame,” she tries to ignore the voice and sink back into sleep, but it persists. “Ame. Amy. Amy, wake up.”

 

Amy opens her eyes to squint down at Jonah, who for some unknown reason has rucked up her shirt and is pressing ticklish kisses all over her stomach. The sun is just barely coming in through the blinds. “Jonah, what the fuck time is it?”

 

“Like six,” Jonah says, sounding way too cheerful. He is not usually a morning person. 

 

“Why the fuck did you wake me up, then? I can sleep for another hour and a half. Get off me,” and she swats at him irritably. 

 

“I can’t sleep,” Jonah says. “I wanna go down on you.”

 

“What, now? Fuck you, I’m sleeping.”

 

“Please?” If you had told Amy Brookheimer at age 21, or age 28, or even age 32 that she was ever going to be in the position to turn down oral sex- of getting so much head so regularly that the batteries in her vibrator last through the month, so much that she can credibly be thinking ‘meh, maybe not right now, I could take it or leave it’, she would not have believed you. In fact, she would have definitely thought you were making fun of her, and you would have left that conversation with some kind of physical and/or emotional injury. 

 

Just from the way Jonah’s looking at her, all young and eager with his pupils blown out in the low light, Amy can feel her body start to wake up. She bites her lip and looks off to the side to hide a smile. “Fine,” she says, doing her best to sound put-upon. 

 

The thing is about Jonah Ryan- he has a very limited set of skills. Making strangers uncomfortable in a record short amount of time; video games; finding the exact worst specimen of music from every genre and putting them all on the same three mixtapes; and eating pussy. That last one might be the strongest, though. He is really fucking good at this, like on some Rain Man shit. He laps at the crotch of her panties for a while, warming her up; she keeps her eyes closed and tries to breathe steady, and just like she’d been hoping he gets impatient before she does, yanks them down out of the way and dives in. 

 

It’s like a game between them, and it never really gets old: some guys expect you to do the whole porn-star-moaning, writhing around thing, prove you’re enjoying it even when they’re doing a cursory, mediocre job as a quick starter course on the way to sticking their tiny dicks in you. Jonah, on the other hand, really wants to earn it. Amy can let herself drift, just breathing, waiting until she can’t help but cry out and buck up into his mouth. She threads the fingers of one hand through his hair and tugs, and he moans. She doesn’t have to look to know he’s probably grinding down against the bed; a lot of times she’ll make him finish like that, not even touching him once, and he’ll come in his pants and kiss her fucking  _ gratefully  _ afterwards. 

 

“Fuck,” Amy says, close now; he’s gotten preternaturally good at this through excessive practice, knows exactly the rhythm and the angle she needs. “Give me- fucking hell- give me your fingers.” 

 

He obliges right away, and she’s so wet that they slip in easily, crooking forward in time with the thud of her pulse in her ears, and just like that she comes even harder than she’d expected to, thrashing a bit, and sort of kicks Jonah in the side. “Sorry,” she says. 

 

“No,” he says, blinking at her dopily and licking his lips. “You wanna go again?”

 

Amy shakes her head. “I have work, remember?” 

 

“Okay,” Jonah says, and sort of slithers his long body up the bed until they’re face to face. He looks at her sort of weirdly for a few seconds, and she kisses him to cut the awkwardness. Jonah has made her disgusting- the taste of herself on his mouth triggers another rush of wetness to her cunt.  _ No, Amy. Monday morning. Work day.  _

“How was it?” Jonah asks. 

 

“How was what?” Amy looks at him curiously. “What, you need a performance review now?”

 

“No,” Jonah says. “I just mean, that was the first orgasm I gave you as your  _ boyfriend _ . Did it feel different?”

 

“It was good, Jonad. You know it was good. Don’t let it go to your head. Also, get off me, I have to shower or I’m going to be late despite waking up two hours early.” 

 

“Hour and a half,” Jonah says, and kisses her again. “Love you.” 

 

He says this periodically; Amy has gotten used to it, relatively certain it’s not part of some kind of ploy or long con, and mollified by the fact that he doesn’t seem to expect her to return the sentiment. “Okay,” she says instead, extricating herself and heading for the shower. 

 

“Okay,” Jonah echoes teasingly. “You want breakfast or just coffee?” 

 

“Coffee’s fine.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “So.. is it your anniversary?” she asks tentatively.
> 
> “No,” Amy says. “I just have a stalker. Anyway, if anyone calls for me between now and… 4:45? Tell them I’m with a client.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know what to say about this. It is just treacle. Embarrassing, really.

Tuesday afternoon Amy’s just getting off a conference call, leaning back in her chair and nursing the beginnings of a migraine, when the intercom on her office phone rings. 

 

“Hello? Tell whoever it is to go away, I’m not here.” Amy would never admit this, but at least 65% of the reason she’d taken this boring job as a ‘policy consultant’ with a corner office was that she got to have an assistant to screen her calls. Yeah, Tina is just some cute 21-year-old who also covers for two or three other people on this floor, but. Still. Amy never had any employees as a West Wing staffer, did she. 

 

“Sorry, ma’am. I know. It’s a delivery?” 

 

“No, it’s not,” Amy snaps. “I didn’t order anything.” 

 

“Um,” Tina says. “Okay?”

 

“Oh, Jesus Christ,” Amy says, moving to open the office door. When she sees the situation she has to take a second. “Wha-” 

 

“Yeah… I let the delivery guy just leave it, he was getting kind of impatient- also I didn’t tip him, should I have tipped him? Anyway, I can put it in your office if you want-”

 

“Hmm?” Amy says, blinking. She has not been able to reconcile what she’s seeing with her understanding of reality. Perched on the edge of Tina’s reception desk is… what has to be the most ridiculous floral arrangement she’s ever seen- it’s at least two feet tall. Tina goes to lift it up and Amy has to spot her, that’s how heavy the thing is. They get it settled securely on the credenza, and Tina dries her palms on her skirt. 

 

“So.. is it your anniversary?” she asks tentatively. 

 

“No,” Amy says. “I just have a stalker. Anyway, if anyone calls for me between now and… 4:45? Tell them I’m with a client.” 

 

“Sure.” Amy waits for Tina to shut the door behind her before she starts Googling furiously. It takes her a respectable twenty-five minutes to find out that Jonah apparently saw fit to spend two hundred American dollars on flowers that will be dead by this time next week. Amy sends him a snap of the bouquet, captioned with a string of question marks:  _??????? _

 

While she waits for his answer, she fingers the blooms, considering. She doesn’t recall ever mentioning that white lilies were her favorites- it’s never come up organically- but here they are, interspersed with long-stemmed white roses, none of the tacky colors or baby’s breath filler she would have expected from Jonah. The insane size of the thing is the only concession to his… immoderate sensibilities. She gets two texts back. The first just says:  

 

From: Jonah 2:38:12 PM EST

¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ 

 

The second contains a string of different heart emojis. 

 

One of the perks of having your own office is that no one asks you why you’re blushing like an evangelical housewife at a strip club. 

 

\---

 

The rest of the week Jonah’s gone, spending time in his district ahead of his first reelection campaign. He sends her occasional dispatches from the trail, which seem to indicate that Jeff Kane is going prematurely senile. Friday morning, though, he texts her: 

 

From: Jonah 10:45:17 AM EST

back tonight. come over? ill cook

 

Amy had been very surprised to learn that Jonah was a passable cook- “You can learn anything on Reddit,” he’d said by way of explanation- but she fucking hates cooking, so why look gift ogres in the mouth, right? In the car she tries to prepare herself for the necessary conversation. 

 

Jonah’s door is open, but Amy only has time to kick off one of her shoes before he all but sprints into the room like a hyperactive puppy and scoops her up from behind. 

 

“Oh my god, put me down,” she says, trying to stomp his foot with the one heel she still has on. 

 

“No,” Jonah says, and does some kind of move that flips her to be facing him without letting her get her feet on the ground. It’s not like he’s particularly graceful, either, his hands are just so freakishly huge-

 

“Missed you,” Jonah says. 

 

“It was two days.”

 

“Three,” he says, and dips down for a kiss. He hasn’t stopped smiling this whole time, seems to be almost vibrating with energy. Amy pulls back a little.  

 

“Tell me you didn’t leave anything on the stove to burn,” she says, and finally he sets her down. 

 

“Come on,” he says. “Keep me company. How was your week?” 

 

His back is to her now, as he messes around with whatever’s on the stove, which makes it easier to get the words out. 

 

“Look,” Amy says. “Jonah. We need to talk.”

 

He stills. “Uh-oh,” he says quietly. 

 

“It’s just,” Amy takes a deep breath. “I tell people you’re my boyfriend because it’s the easiest thing to say, you know? But, like, I didn’t mean- look, I’m a sure thing, right? I wasn’t asking you to, like, cook for me and buy me flowers and, like, lay your jacket out over puddles and lick my feet, or whatever. I wasn’t, like, dropping some kind of hint. It’s just a word.” She looks up to find Jonah staring at her. 

 

“Okay,” he says slowly. “So… you’re not breaking up with me?”

 

“What? No.” 

 

“Then what are you saying?” 

 

“I just mean- it’s not just because you’re my boyfriend-” he grins at the mention of the word, again- “don’t feel obligated to, like-” 

 

“I don’t, though,” Jonah interrupts. “I don’t feel  _ obligated _ . I really fucking like you, and I always have, and I like doing shit for you. And now you’re my girlfriend, so it’s allowed.”

 

Amy bites down hard on the inside of her cheek and studies his face. Every bone in her body is warning her to watch out, that this is a trick of some kind- but here’s the thing. Jonah is transparent, completely, can’t lie to her for shit. She watches him fidget for a few seconds, thinking. 

 

“Right?” he prompts after a minute, starting to look uncertain. Amy shakes her head and shrugs. 

 

“Fine. Whatever.”

 

“Awesome,” he says, and his smile is so wide she can feel herself mirroring it involuntarily. She looks away- he wears his emotions so openly that sometimes it’s fucking mortifying, like staring into a floodlight. 

 

“Hurry up,” she says. “I’m hungry.”

 

\---

 

Saturday night Jonah flips over in bed to check his phone. “12:04 AM,” he says. “Sunday, March 11. Happy one week anniversary.”

 

“No,” Amy says. “That’s not a thing.” She’s trying to be stern but he moves to blow a raspberry on her stomach, so she’s forced to laugh. 

 

“Okay,” Jonah says. “I have a question, though.”

 

“Oh really.”

 

“Yeah. The other day-” he trails off, getting distracted staring at her boobs.  _ Are you kidding?  _ Amy snaps her fingers. 

 

“The other day what?” 

 

“Oh, yeah. You said- you said you weren’t asking for flowers or whatever. But, like, is there shit that you do want?” 

 

Amy frowns at him. She doesn’t like this line of questioning at all. 

 

“Cause you can ask me,” Jonah says. “Seriously, anything you want.” 

 

Amy can’t remember how old she was exactly when she stopped expecting or asking for things from men- high school, maybe- but it’s a well-worn habit by now. Finding herself examining that now leaves her feeling exposed. She shakes her head. “No, I’m good.” 

 

“Okay,” Jonah says agreeably. “Let me know. I love you.”

 

“Ohhhh kay,” Amy says, putting her hands over his face to shut him up. “Shhh.” 

 

“You’re really pretty,” he says through her fingers. 

 

“Okay, time for bed,” Amy says loudly. “Let’s go to sleep, please.” 

 

“Okay,” Jonah says, and leans in to kiss her softly. “Good night.” 

 

Amy reaches out one hand to turn out the light. 

  
“Love you.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ 
> 
> @ me: adeleblaircassiedanser.tumblr.com
> 
> oh and the flowers are like this but more so https://www.ftdimg.com/pics/products/LX153_200x225.jpg

**Author's Note:**

> So this doesn't end for any good reason except that I'm tired. There will probably be more of this in some form at some future time, possibly tomorrow. Hmu at adeleblaircassiedanser.tumblr.com with thoughts, headcanons, prompts, etc. thanks for reading <33


End file.
